First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances

by Kent, Julia

  Footsteps outside the door bring me crashing down, and I freeze then remember. Memories use my moment of clarity to reassert themselves, and I realize that Arion can’t claim me as his unless my past lets me go.

  Twelve

  Arion

  A moment ago, Angel was so fucking open and responsive to me it nearly sent me over the edge. Now she’s throwing up walls faster than I thought possible.

  “I do want you,” she insists, and I can see the truth of it in her hungry expression. “But my head is still kinda messed up, and I just need some time.” She squirms away from me, and this time I open my arms and let her go.

  I readjust my pants, trying to ease my discomfort, and nod. She’s not a ‘one night stand’ kind of girl; she’s a ‘one lifetime isn’t ever going to be enough’ kind of girl, so I can be patient. Even if what I really want to do is bend her over that bench in the changing room and slam into her. When she bolted earlier, outside the store, I thought I was losing her again. There’s something more there, something she isn’t telling me, and I think it’s the same thing that’s stopping her now. I swallow hard, staring at her slightly mussed hair and flushed cheeks. “Just tell me one thing and then fine. Did someone hurt you? Is that why—”

  Her face starts to crumble as she nods, and her eyes go glassy with tears. Not knowing sucks, but seeing her look like that kills me, so I pull her against me, enveloping her in my arms. “Okay, forget it. You don’t have to tell me anything. Just know I’d never hurt you, Angel. I can’t promise I’m going to stop coming on to you, because I won’t. I want you too damn much, but I’ll try to behave.”

  “I don’t want you to behave; I want me to be ready,” she whispers into my chest, and for now it’s enough. She isn’t ready to talk about it, but that doesn’t matter right now. I have other ways of getting the answers I need without causing her more anguish.

  I stroke her hair for a few moments then nudge her toward the changing room. “Get dressed.”

  She disappears into the room and comes out with the dress slung over her arm. “Brandy already took the other clothes that fit out. Did you pick which you wanted me to get?”

  “Yup.” All of them. “They’re waiting at the counter; I already paid. This too.”

  “But?” Her forehead furrows. “I don’t think I need a dress like that for the farm, no matter how gorgeous it is.”

  “I’ve got to go to an awards dinner on Thursday evening. Normally they’re dull, boring affairs, but I was hoping you’d go with me. I’d pick you up from the farm Thursday afternoon and take you back on Friday, if you wanted.” And if she goes, it most definitely won’t be boring. Especially with her in that dress.

  “That sounds like girlfriend territory.”

  “Last time I took Chelsea, but this time she has her own date. I guess I could ask one of the waitresses—”

  “I’ll go,” she says, a little too quickly.

  That was easier than I thought. Angel always did have a jealous streak to go along with her competitive streak, and I only feel a little guilty for using it. My purchases are already waiting in bags by the register, so as soon as Brandy puts the dress into a garment bag, we’re ready to go.

  An hour later we’ve made it to the shoe store for two pairs of boots and a pair of sandals. I tried to buy her more sneakers, too, but she said hers are perfectly fine. We also picked up a new suitcase for her to get all her stuff out to the farm—and more importantly, to get it back to my apartment when I finally convince her to come home to me—and a raincoat and umbrella.

  We’re walking toward the exit, loaded with bags, when she pauses before a sparkling fountain. The way her face lights up, it’s like the fountain is pouring out liquid hope instead of recycled water. “Since you’re so determined to waste money on me, can I have a penny?”

  Her protests about money are going to get old quick. In some ways, it’s cute, but what’s so wrong about me wanting to take care of her? After I sit the bags down by the fountain, I manage to find a few quarters in my pocket. I always try to grab a few for parking meters.

  Angel’s face scrunches up as she eyes the quarters. “Is this going to become typical? I ask for something little, and you do something big?”

  I’d give her the world if I could, but I think if I tried, she’d throw it back in my face. I wonder how annoyed she’s going to be when she opens the bags of clothes and realizes how much I bought beyond what she tried on. “It isn’t a big deal. Trust me, if I was shopping with Chelsea, what we’ve bought today would barely be the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Doesn’t she have her own money, since her mom married your Dad?”

  “No, I pay her a salary for bartending, but she has expensive tastes and a serious lack of restraint.” That, and I think her mom secretly wants Chelsea to try to find a man to take care of her, the way Vanessa snagged my dad. If she had her own card, she’d be less inclined to do so. Angel doesn’t need to know that. I detest Vanessa enough for the both of us. “Somehow she manages to talk me into always giving her more or taking her shopping. But I figure she’s been there for me when I need her, and I can always make more money. It’s harder to make a true friend.”

  One of the reasons I fell so hard for Angel without having met her is that I always felt like she truly saw me for me. It’s impossibly easy to find any number of girls who will sleep with me or keep me company because they want a taste of money and power. Angel knew nothing about my family’s wealth, and yet she still liked me.

  Angel closes her eyes and tosses a quarter into one of the middle tiers of the cascading fountain.

  “What’d you wish for?”

  Angel smiles a secret smile and shakes her head. “Can’t tell you; that’s against the rules.”

  The way she says it, she remembers darn well how I feel about rules. If you know the rules, you can work them in your favor and use them to win. The best players aren’t better because they have more skill; they’re the best because they constantly walk the line of the rules, taking every possible advantage. But when it comes to Angel, I want to break all the rules. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.” I grab one of my quarters from her cupped palm and toss it in. My wish is standing right beside me. So why does she feel more out of reach now, in person, than she did when we only had each other online?

  Thirteen

  Angel

  After the mall, the grocery store was a breeze. I not only loaded the cart with enough for dinner tonight but also for the next several days. How that man exists on just bar food and protein shakes, I’ll never understand. His only addition to the cart was a Keurig, complete with K-cups. He said he didn’t want a lack of coffee to be an excuse for me to stay away. As if it would. But I’m not telling him that. Not yet.

  My eyes drift up, away from the cheese I’m grating, as the door to the bathroom creaks open. As soon as we returned from shopping, Arion said he needed to fit in a quick workout and then a shower afterward. He didn’t say so, but I think he needed to work off some frustration after our exploits in the dressing room. I rip my gaze away from his abs, settling on his eyes. He definitely looks more relaxed than he did when we got home. I mean back to his place.

  “I need to run out for a few minutes, do a few quick errands. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

  “I’m a big girl; I think I can handle it.” I wink as I free a clump of cheddar from the grater. It’s a crying shame Arion has top-of-the-line everything in his kitchen, and not a bit of it looks like it’s ever been used.

  He pauses at his doorway, looking quietly at me as if he’s not sure what he should do. Wave, say nothing, or maybe even kiss me goodbye. “I’ll be less than an hour, that all right?”

  “Shoo!” I laugh as the door shuts behind him. He looks so out of his element having me here, cooking in his kitchen, but I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.

  My mother’s mother died when Mom was a toddler, and her dad remarried soon after, to my Abuela. Some of my earliest mem
ories are of the three of us cooking together. Since Arion oversaw my initiation with traditional Philly cheesesteaks this morning, I figured I’d make him Abuela’s Enchiladas. As I finish shredding the cheese, I wonder if I should borrow Arion’s phone to let Mom and Abuela know I’m all right.

  With the cheese done, I move on to the onions. At least I can pretend they are the source of my tears.

  Not telling my family where I was going near about killed me, but better me than them. I need to be unfindable because I know Nick is going to try and get Mom to tell him where I’m at. She can’t tell him what she doesn’t know.

  I’m bent over adjusting the pan of enchiladas in the oven when the door opens, and I hear Arion’s low whistle.

  “That’s a view I could get used to coming home to.”

  I whirl, shutting the oven with my hip, ready with a sharp retort, but then I freeze.

  Arion is holding a mixed bouquet of lilies surrounded by red and yellow roses out in front of himself like a tithe, an offering of peace. A brown paper bag with short handles dangles from his other hand, and a potted succulent is tucked into the crook of his arm.

  “What the—”

  “I’ve never exactly bought a girl flowers before, so bear with me. The woman in the shop said yellow roses mean friendship and red roses are for romance.”

  I arch an eyebrow and hope he can’t see my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. I think this is about the sweetest or the most outrageous thing anyone’s ever done for me. Maybe both.

  “I know that right now you aren’t ready, and I’m okay with that. So I thought this would be a good way to show you friendship is enough for now but that I won’t stop waiting and hoping for more. Someday, our bouquet will be red.”

  “Maybe,” I whisper, trying to ignore how thready my voice sounds because of the lump lodged in my throat. “And the cactus?”

  He pushes the roses into my trembling hands, puts the bag on the counter, then holds the pot up for me to see. “It’s actually two. Look.” When Arion tugs, the pot splits in half, creating two faux broken circles, with a prickly plant in each. “I wanted you to have a bit of your home, here. Maybe someday you’ll think of this as home. When you’re ready.”

  “Two?” I can barely find my voice, so I’m pleased with managing even one little word.

  Arion nods. “One for you to take to the farm with you, and one to keep here.”

  “Arion, I—”

  In one quick movement, he sets the pots on the counter and holds a finger to my lips. “Shh. Don’t say anything. Please.”

  How crazy is it that a gorgeous man brings me flowers and then has to beg me not to ruin it? But he’s right, I was going to argue and say it’s too much. Instead, I find a small but sincere smile. “What’s in the bag?” At the rate he’s going, I’m just praying it isn’t a ring. I don’t know how he can be so sure about us, after everything.

  “Wine.”

  “Thank God!” I reach for the bottle as the oven timer goes off behind, admonishing me for being so eager to abandon sobriety with a shrill beep. It can admonish all it wants, as intense as Arion is, I think I need a glass, or three.

  “Why don’t I pour while you check that.” He breezes past me without waiting for an answer, radiating an aura of confidence and sexuality.

  I have no idea where the urge comes from, but I go with it. My fingers snake out, gripping his arm so suddenly he turns to me, looking a bit startled and a lot intrigued. The roses remain clutched tightly in one hand as I throw my arms around his neck, offering my lips to his.

  At first, his entire body fights back, rigid and unyielding, but then we meld together, almost inseparable. The firmness of his body contrasts with the softness of his mouth, and a shiver runs through me as his tongue glides lightly over my lower lip. My breath comes out in a heavy sigh as my hips angle toward him, begging for him to understand the things I have no words for but that my body knows. Arion lightly grazes my lip with his teeth just before his mouth captures mine, sweeping away all my reservations with every caress of his tongue. Our kiss is charged with the electricity of a million missed moments and with the promise of a thousand kisses to come, all within the space of a single heartbeat. I will never, ever get enough of him.

  His fingers massage up my back from my waist, igniting a trail of desire before burying themselves in my hair. His thumb firmly strokes my jaw, deepening our kiss while anchoring me to him. Nothing has ever felt more right than his touch, and this time I don’t freak and I don’t flinch. I feel like I’m offering him something, rather than having something taken beyond my control. And I want to offer him everything of myself, as soon as I find it. His other hand slips around my ass, lifting me until my legs are wrapped around him. I gasp as he places me on the counter, and the sudden absence of him against me is almost painful.

  An invisible but almost tangible thread of blinding tension keeps our gazes sewn together as he backs toward the oven. I see my own hunger reflected in his eyes, and I don’t mean for the enchiladas. They can burn, just like I am.

  “Do these need to come out?”

  He means the enchiladas, which do, but I’m thinking about his hips, tightly hugged by his jeans, and they also do. I shake my head and reach for him, wanting to pull him back to me. I need him, and the few feet between us are miles too far. “Just turn the oven off, they’ll be fine.”

  He pokes a button, the oven beeps, and then I’m moaning as his hands find their way back to my waist, playing with the hem of my shirt as his lips press small burning kisses along my jaw, each one another step toward my undoing. “I don’t know how much I can take, Angel. I want to spread you right here on this fucking counter.”

  His words take me back to a time when every night was spent with us talking dirty, wishing there weren’t two thousand miles between us. Even though only an irritating layer of denim rests between us now, a bigger distance can still tear us apart: my past.

  Most people can’t understand how close two people can become just by talking, flirting, and wishing. But we were, and now, I know he’ll never understand how we could be so close and yet I could just leave without a word, as if he didn’t matter.

  I want to do this. I want to tell him to take me, that I’m his. Maybe if I can, he’ll be able to feel the truth from me, even as I can’t find the words. He mistakes my silence and pulls away. As much as I crave his touch, I know that the panic is waiting just beneath the surface to consume me, so this time I let him go. Better to let him pull away on his own accord than for me to stop it again. His eyes close, and he shudders.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispers, gripping the counter beside me as if he is trying to find a way to permanently affix his hands to prevent them from returning to my flesh. “I just told you that I could wait and be your friend, and then I go and pull shit like this.”

  The level of disgust in his eyes can’t compare to my own. This, too, is my fault. How many times will I hurt him before he tosses me aside? Ignoring the throbbing between my legs, I reach over and lightly trace the back of his hand. “I’m pretty sure I started it.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  His tone is innocent enough, though still a bit ragged so I know his blood is still flowing just as hot as my own, but his eyes are cautious. This won’t be a light question, and part of me wants to say no. I owe him at least some answers, so I nod. Subconsciously, I free my hair from behind my ears in case I need a virtual curtain to hide behind.

  “You seemed sort of scared when I touched you before but not this time. Does that mean you’re starting to at least trust me?”

  “It isn’t about trust. It’s about habit. I want to trust you, and part of me does. The other part of me isn’t ready to trust anyone yet, but it isn’t because I don’t want to. I wasn’t as scared that you were trying to hurt me, because I initiated the touch. I think.”

  Acceptance rolls across his shoulders, and he flips his hand over, taking mine in his. He leans
forward, and his breath is hot on my ear. How something so warm can give me such tiny shivers, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. “So what you’re really saying is that I just need to do my best to tempt you to touch me without touching you?”

  His whisper is reawakening every sensation I’ve been trying to ignore. “Maybe,” I squeak.

  He leans back, grinning. “Then I solemnly forbid you to touch me. No tangling those hot little legs of yours around me or running your fingers through my hair. And you absolutely may not kiss me.”

  Bastard! All I’m thinking about is doing exactly what he just told me not to do, and he damn well knows it. “Fine by me.” I hop down off the counter and open the oven. “Crap!”

  “What?”

  “I thought you turned the oven off?” I glance up at the digital display and see that he didn’t. Instead, he raised the heat.

  “Well in all fairness, I was a bit distracted.”

  My perfect enchiladas look more like bricks from a seldom-cleaned fireplace. I could almost cry. Nothing is going according to plan, and we only have this one night together before he’s taking me to the farm. So much for impressing him with my cooking.

  “Wow, baby. I’m impressed. We burned each other up so much we even burnt dinner. Just imagine the fire we’ll start when I finally get you in my bed.”

  I’m definitely feeling the fire. From the oven’s heat, of course. It couldn’t possibly be from his ridiculously sexy and sweet comment. Inwardly I groan. “So, other thoughts on dinner?”

  “A girl cooked for me for the first time ever. I don’t know about you, but I’m eating it.” His eyes drift toward my waist just long enough to make me blush.

  Arion grabs two plates, and I scoop out the least-burnt enchiladas and carry them to the table while he fills two glasses with wine. The first bite is so awful I want to spit it out, but Arion is faithfully chewing, his face thoughtful. I gulp my wine, trying to wash away the taste. I have no clue what he’s doing or what game he’s trying to play, but Arion takes another bite and then beams.